


The Highest Open-Air Observatory

by goldenraeofsun



Series: The Greatest City in the World [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mentions of PTSD, Minor Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Security Guard Bucky Barnes, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 15:52:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12610156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenraeofsun/pseuds/goldenraeofsun
Summary: “So that makes you Meg Ryan?” Bucky asked before he could stop himself. “I can see the resemblance.”The man laughed, flushing deeper. “I was hoping for more of a Cary Grant vibe, but I’ll take what I can get.”“Cary Grant?” Bucky repeated, bemused.The man bit his lip. “You know, the movie, An Affair to Remember from 1957? Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr plan to meet on the top of the Empire State Building but she breaks her legs on the way?”“And you want to model your romance afterthat?”Bucky asked, unable to help his smile.The man shrugged. “It sounded like a good idea at the time.”





	The Highest Open-Air Observatory

**Author's Note:**

> aka: five-times couples reunited at the top of the Empire State Building and one time they didn't.

Gabe had told Bucky when he started working security at the Main Deck of the Empire State Building that he’d see all sorts of sappy shit, but Bucky didn’t witness a single romantic encounter until the end of his first week.

Bucky first registered the strikingly handsome guy when he circled by his post by the elevator for the fifth time in twenty minutes. Normally visitors migrated slowly around the roof deck. They took their time. They didn’t slice through the crowds like a frantically lost puppy.

Wearing a reassuring smile, Bucky waved a hand to grab the man’s attention. “Hey,” he asked, eyes darting up to his face, taking in the pinch of worry around the man’s forehead and the determined set to his mouth that Bucky hadn’t been able to see from a distance. He looked vaguely familiar, but then again, Bucky had been watching him pass by six times by now. “Have you lost someone?” He raised a hand about four feet off the ground to indicate a child.

“No,” the man said, going a bit red. “I’m supposed to meet someone. She’s late.”

“Like the movie?” Bucky asked, head tilting as he thought back to Becca’s ancient collection of rom com DVDs. “Sleepless in Seattle, right?”

The man swallowed. “Uh, kind of.”

“So that makes you Meg Ryan?” Bucky asked before he could stop himself. He raised a hand to gesture to the man’s blond hair. “I can see the resemblance.”

The man laughed, flushing deeper. “I was hoping to go for more of a Cary Grant vibe, but I’ll take what I can get, I guess.”

“Cary Grant?” Bucky repeated, bemused.

The man bit his lip. “You know, the movie, An Affair to Remember from 1957? Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr plan to meet on the top of the Empire State Building but she breaks her legs on the way?”

“And you want to model your romance after _that?”_ Bucky asked, unable to help his smile.

The man shrugged. “It sounded like a good idea at the time.”

“Stupid ones always do,” Bucky said, unthinkingly. Eyes wide, he tried to backtrack, “Not that this is a bad idea. I’m sure she’s going to turn up. Two legs and all. Fingers crossed.”

The man laughed.

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky said, holding his hand out perfunctorily. “What does she look like? I can keep an eye out.”

“Steve Rogers,” the man said as he shook. “And she’s about five feet seven, brown hair, brown eyes. Always wears red lipstick. English.”

Bucky nodded to himself as he committed the details to memory. “Pretty?” he asked, smiling slightly.

Steve sighed, eyes distant: the very picture of a man in love. “Gorgeous.”

Bucky snorted derisively on a reassuring smile anyway. “True love, I guess? Why don’t you pick a spot, admire the view, and I’ll send her your way if I see her? I think I’ll go cross-eyed if you pass my way again.”

"Sorry,” he said, sounding like he was half-attempting sincerity.

“Don’t be,” Bucky waved off his apology. “It’s a nice view.”

Steve blinked, clearly unsure if Bucky meant Steve himself or uptown Manhattan.

Bucky reddened. He wasn’t about to clear up that little mystery anytime soon.

“I’ll just – then,” Steve said awkwardly, jerking his thumb around the corner and out of Bucky’s sight.

“Sure,” Bucky drawled.

As Steve turned to go, Bucky called, “What’s her name?”

“Peggy,” Steve said with a smile. 

Bucky scanned the crowd over the next half hour, searching for a glimpse of red lips or brown curls. It was a nice evening, cloudless with a breeze just on the wrong side of chilly that kept the crowd constantly shifting. The sun had set several hours ago, and the only lights above the horizon were the planes that lazily crossed the deep violet sky. No stars in the city that never sleeps.

Peggy arrived fifteen minutes before closing.

As soon as Bucky saw her, his heart gave a funny lurch in his chest as he gestured for her to step aside from the elevator doors. Her eyes held the same desperation that Steve’s had as they roved around the sparse crowd still milling around the deck.

“Are you Peggy? Steve’s Peggy?” Bucky asked, meeting her questioning gaze squarely.

Peggy frowned, eyes narrowing. “Has something happened to Steve?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Bucky said quickly. “I just wanted to point you in the right direction. He’s waiting for you over there.” He pointed with his right hand, shaking his head as a tourist wearing an unnecessarily puffy jacket in his way started and opened his mouth to ask why the hell Bucky was pointing at him. Bucky made an emphatic, _not you_ , gesture.

“Thank you,” Peggy said, her voice ringing with sincerity. “My blasted phone doesn’t have an American Sim, and my plane got delayed.” 

Bucky peered around the corner after giving her a five-second head start. He found Steve and Peggy locked in a passionate embrace, faces turned away from him. Bucky smiled to himself as he resumed his previous post by the main elevator.

Maybe working at the Empire State Building wasn’t so bad, if he got to help couples reunite every once in a while. That would be nice, something to break up the monotony of telling tourists how to find the nearest subway station.

* * *

Working at the Empire State Building _was_ that bad, as Bucky discovered two weeks later.

The man was still down on one knee, a full minute after the redhead had said in a very wobbly voice, “No. I’m truly sorry, Clint,” and fled with a look of pure terror on her face.

Bucky obligingly held the elevator doors open for her and let her slide into the already packed car without fuss.

The awkward moment lingered on. Once more people were staring back towards the deck rather than out across Manhattan, Bucky left his post to intervene. “Hey,” he said, reaching out to touch the man by the shoulder. “You need any help, pal?”

The man, Clint, dazedly shook his head as he shakily got to his feet. He stumbled in the general direction of the elevator, but Bucky couldn’t let him in good conscience just leave, so he gestured for Clint to lean against the wall a little out of the way of the probing eyes of several dozen strangers. “Regroup here for a bit?” Bucky offered.

“Yeah,” Clint rasped. “Good idea, dude.” He sighed and rubbed a hand through his short dirty blond hair.

“I’m sure she has her reasons,” Bucky said into the ensuing silence.

“Yeah, good ones,” Clint said bitterly. He shook his head as if waving off his curt response. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Bucky said with a wry smile. “I’m the one who should be sorry. That’s rough.” He jerked his head out where Clint had been down on one knee moments before.

Clint merely shook his head.

“I – were you expecting this?” Bucky asked delicately.

“Was a possibility. She’s not the type to settle down – ballerina, you know?”

“Not really.” Bucky put on a solemn expression. “My pirouetting days are far behind me, if you couldn’t tell.”

Clint let out a strangled, despairing laugh. “She was so out of my league,” he groaned, closing his eyes as he tilted his head back against the wall.

“The best ones always are,” Bucky said, hoping his trite bullshit sounded more like sage advice to Clint than it did to his own ears.

Clint didn’t react or open his eyes. “I just thought – hey, now’s my chance. We’re only in New York for a week. She says she never has the time between practice to see the slights. I figure I can kill two birds with one stone, you know?”

“Sure,” Bucky agreed, still more than a little out of his depth. “Seize the moment, right?”

“Right,” Clint affirmed with a nod of his head. “Carpe whatsit.”

“Diem,” Bucky supplied.

“Yeah, that.”

 Bucky chuckled and glanced at his watch as an idea came to him. “Hey, I get off in ten. I think I can clock out early – do you have plans?”

“Alcohol, mostly. And then a lot of coffee.” Clint squinted suspiciously at him. “Why? You wanna buy me a drink?”

“You look like you could use one. Or five,” Bucky told him frankly. At Clint’s continued glare, Bucky held up his hands. “I’m not asking if you want to fuck in a motel room. You look like you’ve had a hell of a day, and you’re new in town. That’s it. Really.”

Clint frowned. “New Yorkers aren’t known for their hospitality.”

Bucky shrugged. “I didn’t say I was going to buy you a $15 cocktail. You’re on a strict five buck beer budget, pal. If you want to see the real New York, I know a dive bar that gives out free hotdogs with a drink. It’s in Midtown, though.”

“Hotdogs?” Clint asked, perking up slightly. “I could use a hotdog.”

Bucky clapped him on his shoulder as he tapped his radio to let Jim Morita down in security know that he was leaving for the night.

* * *

Bucky didn’t have a lot of friends in New York anymore. After he got back from his last tour, the most logical option had been to move back home and find his feet and get over the loss of his arm. He’d been in sporadic contact with his high school friends, but most of them had dropped off his radar during college and ROTC, and later during his years in the army. His sister knew Gabe as a friend-of-a-friend and got Bucky the Empire State Building job. 

In college, he’d meet people in clubs or bars. Now, he didn’t want to come home to his parents stinking of booze, which would just lead to harping about therapy and the VA.

But now Bucky had Clint, who was currently living on his friend’s farm somewhere in the Midwest. The pair of them slid into friendship easily – both outsiders to the rest of the world (what with Bucky’s time overseas, and Clint’s formative years with the circus). After Natasha turned down his marriage offer, Clint abandoned all plans to settling down and instead bummed around on friends’ couches, taking odd jobs when they came. He said he'd never been happier. Bucky was inclined to believe him because the opposite was too depressing.

Bucky surreptitiously checked his phone as another elevator filled with tourists emptied out onto the Main Deck. It had pinged a minute ago with a new text, probably from Clint.

Bucky unlocked his phone to see a picture of Clint beaming in front of a straw target stuffed with arrows clustered around the bullseye.

 _The Middle Ages called. They want their sport back,_ Bucky typed out.

Clint texted back a split-second later, _LAME._

_Excuse me, Im not the one mastering a trade that became obsolete 100s of years ago._

Clint merely sent him an arrow emoji and the caption, _Don’t fuck with Katniss._

Bucky snorted. _I think youre more of a Merida._

Clint started, paused, and started typing again. _Probably. She has stellar technique. Just like me._

Bucky was so preoccupied with his phone that he almost missed the tall blond man step out of the elevator after waiting patiently for everyone else to file out. Bucky vaguely recognized his face, but couldn't come up with a name or anything else. After all, Bucky saw hundreds of people every day on the Main Deck. All the tourists started blurring together after his first hour on shift. They blobbed together into a sheep-like herd by the late evening, like now.

“Bucky Barnes?” the man said as he paused from where Bucky was leaning against the wall coolly surveying the people hustling towards the view.

Bucky started. “Uh, yes?” he asked. “Do I know you?”

The man blinked at him. “We met when I was here last?”

“Pal,” Bucky drawled, “I’ve seen about a thousand people since I started this job. You’ll have to be a little more specific than that.” His eyes skated over the man’s blue eyes, stubborn jawline, and earnest expression.

“I was meeting my girlfriend, Peggy?” the man offered. “I’m Steve.”

Bucky blinked. “I – yeah, I think I know you,” he said as his face broke out into a smile. “That was my first week on the job. It’s been, what, six months since then?”

“Five months, actually, about two and a half weeks,” Steve said, eyes dropping to the vicinity of his shoes and going a bit red in the face.

Bucky’s eyes widened as his smile turned wicked. He pretended to swoon a little. “Why Steve, I didn’t know our meeting made such an impact on you.” 

Steve snorted a laugh. “No, I’m meeting Peggy again. She returns to the States twice a year.”

“You couldn’t pick her up at the airport like a normal boyfriend?” Bucky asked curiously.

Steve bit his lip. “I –”

Bucky cut him off. “Let me guess. She wants to be swept off her feet? Turner Classic Movies style?”

Steve broke out into a wide smile. “So you do remember! And no, she wouldn’t care either way. She’s very pragmatic, actually.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “So why the elaborate meet up?” He held up a hand before Steve could explain. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “It’s _you._ You’re a romantic.”

Steve opened his mouth and closed it again. “Guilty,” he admitted. He stood up straighter, staring Bucky down as he dared him to mock him for it.

And, god help him, Bucky couldn’t do it. He would sooner kick a puppy on Christmas Day. “That’s… nice.”

Steve chuckled ruefully. “You think it’s a waste of time.”

“It’s for sure a waste of money,” Bucky said, raising his shoulder in a half-shrug. “You could meet on the Brooklyn Bridge, or on that giant rock in Central Park if you like heights so much. Both free, both landmarks.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair as his gaze drifted towards the view of upper Manhattan over Bucky’s left shoulder.

“Also shorter lines,” Bucky added.

“But it’s the Empire State Building,” Steve argued with a small shrug. “You can see all of New York from up here.”

Bucky patted him awkwardly on the shoulder “Look, cheer up. You’ll be meeting your ladylove soon.”

“With any luck,” Steve said wryly.

Bucky asked, “When is she supposed to show?”

Steve checked his watch. “In about ten minutes.”

“Do you think she’s going to be late?”

Steve shrugged. “Sometimes she loses track of time. She’s the type that always has to be doing something, you know? Can’t take a whole day off to save her life.”

“I hate those people,” Bucky said unthinkingly.

For some reason, Steve laughed. “It can be a bit much sometimes,” he said lightly, not a trace of resentment in his voice.

“So do you know how to kick back and relax, at least?” Bucky asked.

Steve shrugged. “I always want to, but can never find the time for it, you know?”

“I’m pretty shit at it myself,” Bucky told him, smiling wryly. “I still get up at five in the morning every day even though I don’t have my first shift until eleven.”

“What do you do in the meantime?” Steve asked, clearly interested in the minute details of Bucky’s boring life if the rapt expression on his face was any indication.

“Mostly stare at my bedroom ceiling,” Bucky said, shooting for lighthearted and missing by a mile. “Visit the VA and annoy one of the hot counselors until he kicks me out.”

Steve’s eyes widened as he inhaled a sharp breath. He gave Bucky a more thorough once-over. “You were in the service?”

Bucky straightened his posture and resisted the urge to fidget under Steve's probing gaze. “Sergeant James Barnes, retired,” he rattled off, giving a jaunty little salute because it felt right.

Steve grinned and gestured to himself. “Captain Steve Rogers, also retired. No need to salute, soldier,” he told Bucky, dipping his head with false modesty.

“You’re an asshole,” Bucky said, laughing. “No wonder you outrank me.”

Steve merely shot him a smug look. “Hey, I earned my stripes. Even got a stupid nickname for my trouble.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

Bucky huffed, “The nickname.”

“You know what? I think I hear Peggy calling me,” Steve said hurriedly as he craned his neck to look past Bucky and scan the visible parts of the crowd. “Nice seeing you!”

“You’re a coward, Captain Rogers!” Bucky said loudly as Steve fled in the other direction.

Steve passed by again fifteen minutes later. His hair was windblown from the harsh November wind, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. “Any luck?” he asked Bucky, sidling closer and out of the way of a Chinese family hustling towards the North side of the Main Deck.

“Sorry,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I haven’t seen her.”

Steve let out a long exhale.

“I’m sure she’ll turn up soon,” Bucky said reassuringly even as his stomach twisted unpleasantly at the thought. “You two make a good couple.”

Steve muttered something that was lost to the chattering line waiting for the elevator down. He bit his lip. “Well, if you see her…” he drifted off.

“You’ll be the first to know,” Bucky said with a small smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks,” Steve said as he turned to go.

“Hey,” Bucky said loudly. “I never got that nickname, you know? Help me out here; I’m cold, my feet are numb, and I’m one rude tourist away from going nuts.”

“Are you seriously trying to guilt me into telling?” Steve asked incredulously, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Are you twelve?”

Bucky shrugged. “Throw me a bone, will you?”

Steve snorted. “Captain America,” he said, shaking his head. “My men thought it was funny that my birthday was July 4th.”

“I – Captain America?” Bucky repeated, the blood draining from his face.

Steve let out a small sigh. “Yeah, you’ve heard of me?” It wasn’t a question.

“You didn’t get that name because of your birthday,” Bucky rasped, throat dry. You rescued my unit. The 107th was stranded-”

Steve cut him off curtly, “I remember.” He rubbed a weary hand down his face, rubbing some feeling back into the skin. “Six months ago, when I was here last time, I’d thought you looked familiar.” Steve’s eyes drifted to Bucky’s left arm, concealed beneath his work uniform sleeve.

Bucky very deliberately pushed his embarrassment down as far as it would go. “I heard you were a runner up for the medal of honor for saving our asses,” he said quietly instead. “Successful suicide mission for a bunch of POWs.”

“I was,” Steve said shortly.

Bucky flinched at Steve’s tone, colder than the temperature outside. He bit his lip as he struggled to come up with some way to steer it back to calmer waters. But, because he shouldn’t be allowed out in public with normal human beings, his mind was coming up fucking blank.

“Thank you,” was all he could come up with. Like an ungrateful moron.

Steve’s closed-off expression softened a tad. “I – well, it wasn’t my pleasure, but I’m glad that you made it back stateside in one piece.” He winced, jerking his gaze up violently from where it had dropped reflexively to Bucky’s left arm. Bucky watched his mouth form a soundless, “Fuck.”

Bucky bit back the bizarre urge to burst out laughing.

The three days of their escape were still blank for Bucky. He’d been the CO of his unit, so while they’d all been tortured, he’d borne the brunt of it. By the time Steve and his team had found them, Bucky had been nearly half-dead from weeks of solitary confinement, an unknown number of days of starvation, and months of sheer exhaustion. He had only heard of the circumstances and controversy surrounding the 107th rescue in the hospital as he recuperated and tried and failed to acclimate to life with one real arm.

As he tried to adjust to being back home and forget what the fuck happened in the sandbox, he hadn’t bothered to remember the officer’s real name that had rescued them. Rogers’ name was hopelessly generic, anyway. The America part, though, that had stuck in the back of his brain a little.

“I think my sister sent you a thank you letter,” Bucky said, dazed.  “When I moved back home.”

“Did she?” Steve asked, surprised.

“I don’t think she ever got a response.”

Steve frowned. “Maybe it got lost in the mail? I think I would have remembered something like that. Was she mailing it from New York? The City’s postal system has always been shit.”

“That’s true,” Bucky said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. Thankfully his prothesis or leather glove he wore to hide parts of it didn’t snag on any fabric.

They stood there for a moment, the silence heavy between them.

“I’m, uh, going to look for Peggy,” Steve said, nodding his head towards the North side of the Main Deck.

Bucky started. “Of course, sure, of course,” he stumbled.

Steve left, and Bucky dropped his gaze to the floor to stop himself from watching Steve go.

And because Bucky and good luck had never seen eye-to-eye, he was the one who ended up seeing Peggy first twenty minutes later. She smiled graciously as he directed her to where he had last seen Steve. It was the first time in a long while he had to tamp down the surge of regret at the sight of them standing close together by one of the viewfinders.

Bucky pulled out his phone to ask Clint when he would next swing by the Northeast. He needed to get fucking plastered and a place to crash that wasn’t within spitting distance of his parents’ bedroom.

* * *

Tony Stark had rented out the entire Top Deck for the evening. Privately, Bucky felt like the string quartet, photographer, backup tux, dozen bouquets of roses, and two bottles of champagne were a bit much, but he wasn’t about to tell Stark how to spend his money. He merely traded disbelieving looks with Monty, who was also working security that night. In the full year that Bucky had been working at the Empire State Building, he had never seen anything like it. At least he wasn’t outside on the Main Deck; it was supposed to drop below freezing tonight.

“How long does the elevator ride up here take?” Stark asked for what seemed like tenth time as he wrung his hands together.

“About five minutes, sir,” Monty said politely. He ignored Bucky’s annoyed sneer directed towards Stark’s back.

Stark muttered to himself and cast critical glances over where the quartet were chatting amongst themselves, instruments out and waiting in their laps. The cello was overturned on its side and propped up against the back wall.

“Do you know if she’s arrived yet?” Stark asked.

Bucky just barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Over the past half hour, Stark had gotten increasingly anxious. He had started pacing three separate times, chattering the whole while. Bucky was just bored enough to time it – Stark never stopped speaking for more than four consecutive minutes. If Stark carried on like this much longer, Bucky could probably throw Stark off the side of the building without any protest from the quartet. Monty would raise a fuss though; he was a sticker for the rules.

After far too long, the elevator dinged with the arrival of the guest of honor, and Tony went white and uttered an odd little squeak. He flapped his hands in the direction of the quartet, who hurriedly picked up their instruments and set bows to strings.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a stunned redhead, Pepper Potts, the former-PA now in talks to become CEO of Stark Industries. Bucky had seen her face on tabloids while doing late-night grocery shopping. Her forehead was pinched in a way that probably didn’t bode well for Stark, and the furrows in her brow got deeper as she took in the spectacle waiting for her at the top of the Empire State Building.

“Oh, Tony, you didn’t…” she drifted off, blue eyes widening as Stark strode towards her purposefully.

“Pepper –” Stark cleared his throat and started again. “Pepper, my darling better half.” He shoved his hand in his pocket, and Pepper’s eyes zeroed in on the movement. Impossibly, she paled even further.

“I know I haven’t exactly been easy to deal with over the past couple of months,” Stark continued. “But I figure, if you stuck with me for all of that shit, you might want to make this official. Tax benefits, you know.”

Pepper, eyes watery, snorted. “Right, because Tony Stark needs a better tax return.”

Tony smiled, small and tentative, as he sank to one knee.

Pepper sucked in a ragged breath.

Tony swallowed and said, “Pep, will you marry me?”

“Tony, you can’t-” Pepper broke off as she twisted the sleeve of her suit jacket between perfectly manicured fingers. “You can’t just erase the last couple of months with a proposal!” she hissed, her voice tinged with desperation. “We got back together _last week._ ”

Tony stood up like the floor was on fire.

She went on, “And I love you Tony, god help me I do, but that doesn’t erase the fact that you lied to me for months. You are still dying, aren’t you?” she asked, jabbing him hard in the center of his chest.

“I – yes, technically, but I’m working on it –”

Pepper let out a disgusted noise and strode away from him. “And now you want to get married? Am I supposed to think this is a huge coincidence when you haven’t even mentioned marriage in the past five years we’ve been together?”

“So you’re turning down my proposal?” Tony asked flatly, face carefully devoid of emotion.

Pepper whirled back around. “Of course I’m not,” she said fiercely. “But I’m not accepting it either. Ask me when you don’t have a death sentence hanging over your head and I’ll say yes. I’ll be overjoyed to accept.” She swallowed. “But until then, don’t even think about it. You’re _dying_ , Tony.”

Tony cut in bitterly. “You think I don’t know that?”

Pepper ignored him. “So, focus on that. Get better first. Then I’ll believe you really want to go through with all of this,” she said as she waved her hand around the Top Deck. She bit her lip. “I’m going to back to Stark Tower now. Do you want to come with me?”

Tony just stood there. A beat later, he watched her leave without another word.

A minute later, he still hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Mr. Stark?” Monty asked uncertainly.

The string quartet quieted as well, listening intently.

Tony looked around, eyes widening as if he was genuinely surprised that they were still there. He swallowed and straightened his shoulders. “Well, show’s over I guess,” he said.

Monty raised an eyebrow as he met Bucky’s gaze.

Bucky minutely shook his head. “I’ll stay and watch him,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “Make sure the rest of them get down alright.”

“You sure?” Monty asked. “Who knows how long he wants to wallow.”

Bucky nodded firmly. “Go home to Jacques. Tell him I know he cheated last time, and I’m coming for his ass next poker night.”

Monty chuckled and clapped Bucky on the shoulder before moving across the room to usher everyone who wasn’t Stark out of the Top Deck.

The quartet quietly packed up their instruments, not speaking. The last to go, the cellist, hesitated before the doors, but turned to go without saying anything. The photographer bowed out with a graceful, “Sorry man,” before he scurried away to fill the elevator down.

Bucky turned to Tony, who was staring out at downtown Manhattan. It had started to snow.

“Uh, nice view,” Bucky offered.

Tony turned to him, an incredulous expression on his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Sorry,” Bucky said after a long pause. “I’m not really good at the whole small talk thing.”

“Well, I schmooze for a living, so you’re in luck,” Tony said with a wry grin that did not reach his eyes. “But,” he continued as he moved away from the window to the chilled bucket of champagne, “I don’t work on an empty stomach. So.” He popped the champagne and waited for the excess gas to escape before taking a long sip. He held it out to Bucky.

Bucky hesitated.

Tony let out a derisive laugh. “It isn’t catching – that thing that Pepper was talking about. I don’t have fatal cooties, you know.”

“I know that,” Bucky said defensively. “We’re not supposed to drink on the job, though.”

“Fuck that,” Tony said eloquently as he took another drink. “That’s bullshit.”

Bucky laughed despite himself.

“When else are you going to have $500 champagne?” Tony asked, wiggling the bottle enticingly in Bucky’s direction.

Bucky gaped at him. “I don’t remember the time I drank wine that cost more than five bucks.”

“That’s fucking terrible,” Tony said, nose wrinkling as he coughed a little on another pull of champagne. “Can you even cook with that stuff?”

“Nope, but you can get drunk,” Bucky told him as he took the champagne and took a tentative sip. “Goddamn,” he breathed. “That’s good.”

“Yeah it is,” Tony said, smiling widely as he took the bottle back.

They spent the next couple minutes in silence, passing the bottle back in forth and watching the snow fall onto the Top Deck outside.

“I’m sorry she didn’t say yes,” Bucky said, a little more than half-way drunk. His tolerance had been shot after he got back stateside, and he hadn’t been jumping to build it back up again while living with his parents.

“Not sorrier than I am,” Tony said glumly. “It was a longshot, I knew that. But it’s Pep. How could I not go for it?”

“How not?” Bucky echoed for lack of anything intelligent to say. He took a long drink, smiling as the bubbles in the champagne fizzled on his tongue and down his throat.

“I actually planned it for weeks, if you can believe that,” Tony said, his expression brightening a fraction as Bucky silently held the bottle back towards him.

“I can believe that,” Bucky said in a low voice, gesturing to the dozens of roses still surrounding them and the empty music stands. “This was romantic as shit.”

“I always do that,” Tony grumbled. “This was the damn rabbit all over again. I should have known.”

“Rabbit?” Bucky echoed.

“She likes bunnies,” Tony said with a small smile. “So I got her a 20-foot custom rabbit.”

Bucky pulled a face. “A live one?”

“A stuffed animal,” Tony corrected. “You seriously thought I’d find a 20-foot rabbit hopping around New York? I’m rich, but not that rich.”

“I – not New York,” Bucky muttered, blushing. He refused the bottle when Tony offered it back to him. “Australia is filled with crazy shit. The Galapagos too.”

“What do you know about the Galapagos?” Tony asked, lip curling.

Bucky bristled. He wasn’t as cultured as Tony Stark, sure, but he’d seen shit that would give Tony nightmares for years and had almost laid down his life in service of his country. Tony fucking Stark could get off his fucking high horse. “Hospital had a lot of old National Geographics,” Bucky said in a hard voice. “I got sick of daytime TV after three days.”

“What were you in the hospital for?”

“Lost my arm,” Bucky said as he pulled off the glove he always wore and waved the prosthetic with its limited motion range. In his right mind, he’d show off his fake arm on pain of death, but he wasn’t thinking right with all the alcohol in his system.

“Car accident?” Tony asked, going a bit pale.

“Torture in Afghanistan,” Bucky corrected with a sigh as he reached over with his right arm to yank the mostly empty champagne bottle out of Tony’s lax grip and drain it.

“Oh,” Tony said. He didn’t offer thanks for his service, which Bucky appreciated, because civilians didn’t know the fucking meaning of service, so their thanks usually meant next to nothing. “We have a second bottle,” he said after a moment, which definitely beat empty platitudes.

Without a word, Tony got up and made his way towards the ice bucket, his steps steadier than Bucky would have guessed. Once the bottle was uncorked, he took a sip and only choked a little on the fizz.

“To Pepper Potts, love of my life,” Tony toasted.

Bucky shrugged, but took a took a drink to Pepper Potts. It was only polite, after all.

Tony looked over to him and squinted. “You got a girlfriend, Mr. Security Man?”

“That’s Sergeant Barnes, to you,” Bucky said dryly. He cast his gaze downwards, morosely looking out at the steady stream of cars like worker ants trundling down Fifth Avenue. Impossible to think they all contained tiny people, just going about their daily lives. “And no, I don’t.”

“Lucky you,” Tony told him seriously. “They’re so much trouble. Can’t eat strawberries. Always eats my olives. So many olives.” He didn’t seem too upset about it. Instead, he had a distinctly sappy expression on his face.

Bucky sighed. “Are you going to ask her again?”

Tony shrugged. “Have do, don’t I?” he asked.

“No you don’t,” Bucky argued, but Tony was already shaking his head.

“I need her in my life. She’s the reason for… everything. I want to marry her. And I’m not doing it because I think I’m going to die in three months. I mean, kind of,” Tony rambled, “I didn’t want to marry her before, but those were stupid reasons. It just took an ongoing near-death experience to see that they were that stupid, you get it? It’s not that I want an expiration date on marriage, which is what I think she thinks. That’s not it. That’s the last thing I want.”

Bucky nodded along, deftly plucking the champagne bottle out of Tony’s hand as he continued to talk. He wasn’t paying it any attention and it was dangerously close to tipping over in his lax grip.

“You going to go all out again?” Bucky asked, waving his hand around the Top Deck before taking another drink from the champagne.

“Of course,” Tony blustered. “I wouldn’t Tony Stark if I didn’t. Maybe I’ll rent out the top of the Rock, since the Empire State didn’t do it for her.”

“Right,” Bucky said, still trying to wrap his mind around the cavalier way Tony Stark talked about throwing around thousands of dollars to please Pepper Potts. “Why, though?”

“Why what?” Tony asked, perplexed.

“Why do all this for her?” Bucky asked awkwardly. “Does she want a big spectacle?”

“Because I love her?” Tony asked, making a face. “And it’s not about the spectacle. It’s about the effort. If I could go all out on a small budget – I mean, I wouldn’t because I’m Tony Stark – then that’d be one thing. But why wouldn’t you want to use all the resources you have to let you know you love them? It took me a while, Pepper can tell you, but I learned that if you don’t put in the effort every once in a while, sometimes they’ll think that means you don’t care. Sometimes words are enough. Sometimes they aren’t.”

Bucky looked down. “I think we’re almost out of champagne.”

Tony raised his eyebrows as he took the bottle from Bucky. “So we are.”

* * *

Bucky didn’t see Steve again until late Spring. Not that he’d tell anyone but Clint, even then mostly through a series of drunk texts in March, but he’d been keeping an eye out for him. Every word of their disastrous last conversation was seared into his brain, especially his comment that he met Peggy every six months.

In March, it occurred to him that Steve might have picked a new national landmark.

In April, Bucky was certain that Steve had stopped by on Bucky's day off.

And now in May, Bucky was moping.

He knew he was a little insane, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from second-guessing every tall, blond man that passed through his elevator on the late shift. What were the chances, after all, of running into the hero who saved his life, not once, but twice? Bucky wasn’t stupid or sappy enough to believe that their meeting meant they were destined for any sort of epic love story and a happy ever after – Bucky was more than a little fucked up in the head and Steve was taken, after all – but he couldn’t write it off either.

The third-time Steve visited the Empire State Building during Bucky’s shift, he was wearing a plaid blue button down and khakis. With his blond hair nearly parted and shining in the almost-full moon overhead, he was possibly the most attractive man Bucky had ever seen, leading men on the silver screen included.

But he chickened out calling Steve over when Steve first left the elevator for the Main Deck. Steve had been staring at his phone, biting his lip, completely ignoring everything else. Since he was obviously occupied, Bucky hedged his bets that Steve would come back around eventually. Peggy had yet to arrive on time to any of their meetups. He’d wait, let Steve muddle through whatever what was on his mind, and then make small talk until the real reason Steve forked over $34 and schlepped all the way up here showed up.

Eventually, Steve put away his phone and stared out at the west side.

After fifteen minutes, Bucky’s curiosity got the better of him. There wasn’t much remarkable about the west side view – no Ground Zero, no Central Park, no East river. Just a plain old view of New Jersey off in the distance. And if Steve was in the mood to space out to the exciting partial skyline of Weehawkin, then Bucky was happy to play the hero for once in his damn life.

“Do you come here often?” was Bucky’s opening line, because it was a fucking classic.

Steve turned his head to stare at him. “Bucky,” he said, face barely lighting up with recognition. “How’ve you been?”

“Same old,” Bucky replied, a little heartened as Steve twisted around to face him fully. “Okay – have an ongoing bet with a friend. Archery, yay or nay?”

“Archery?” Steve repeated, brows drawing together in confusion. “As a sport? As an attraction at a Renaissance fair? I can’t see the problem with it.” The corner of his mouth quirked up into a half-smile. “As a method of self-defense? I do not recommend.”

Bucky pulled a face. “I honestly have no idea,” he said with a baffled expression. “But Clint’s been spending all his time at the range, and he’s pretty certain that it’s not a waste of time.” He pulled out his phone, which showed Clint standing next to yet another bullseye, holding a golden trophy aloft.

“If he enjoys it and is not harming innocent bunny rabbits, then I’d say go for it,” Steve said solemnly. “It’s probably still less violent than what I do in my spare time.”

“Let me guess,” Bucky tried, “You seem like one of the do-gooder types. I don’t suppose you run around in tights and a domino mask and beat up bad guys in back alleys? Secret life as a superhero?”

Steve stared at him for a moment, blank-faced, before he burst out laughing. “That’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

Bucky fought to keep a straight face, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A guy can dream.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m sorry to burst your bubble. I play Ultimate.”

“Ultimate… frisbee?” Bucky asked slowly.

Steve lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Much more stimulating than running solo, at any rate.” He bit his lip. “After I got back, it was nice being part of a team again.”

“So, I’m probably just being an alte kaker, but I thought frisbees were for dogs,” Bucky said conversationally.

“Ultimate takes skill, endurance, and strategy just like any other game,” Steve said evenly.

Bucky plowed on, surprisingly undeterred by Steve’s slightly colder tone. “I’m more of a baseball guy myself.”

Steve sighed. “I tried joining the company baseball team when I got back,” he said darkly. “But I flinched every time the bat made contact with the ball. The noise it… Anyway, I was absolutely useless in the outfield.”

“Because of…” Bucky drifted off, both gratified and saddened as Steve nodded along with him without saying the actual words.

“So Ultimate was the next choice,” Steve said with a half-attempt at a smile. “It’s not like it doesn’t get the blood pumping – Sam nearly got his ear torn off last time.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you get a bunch of sun-starved retired officers together,” Steve said with a grin. “It can get pretty bad. Riley broke his nose once. He kept playing without setting it. By the time we convinced him to go to the ER, it wouldn’t heal right.”

“Yeah, I’ll stick to my solo treadmill running, thanks,” Bucky said with a shudder. “I like my nose the shape it is.”

Steve stared at Bucky. “Really?” he asked as he tilted his head. “I don’t see why.”

Bucky drew up short before he started laughing. “You’re a punk.”

Steve just smirked.

“I got your number, pal,” Bucky said, pointing an accusatory finger at Steve’s chest. “You got this whole wholesome boy next door, boy scout thing going on, but inside you’re just a little shit like the rest of us.”

Steve frowned and asked conversationally, “Isn’t that a little far?”

“No. Absolutely not."

“Alright then,” Steve said with a gracious shrug. “You caught me.”

They stood there smiling at each other, just the sounds of the city eighty floors below them filling in the silence. Bucky licked his chapped lips as the silence stretched on, a mild flare of panic stirring in his gut as Steve watched the movement with his eyes.

“When’s Peggy supposed to get here?” Bucky asked quickly because he couldn’t enjoy a damn good thing in his life and self-sabotage at this point was practically his middle name.

Bucky felt like kicking himself for screwing up the moment, but he knew deep down that it was the right thing to do. He wouldn’t be part of an affair, even if Steve did swing that way – and on that point, all signs were slowly spinning to yes. Bucky had his self-respect. It was practically the only thing he had left as a 30-something living with his parents, working a part-time job, with only one good friend to his name that he kept around precisely because Clint only dropped by New York three times a year. Not to mention the whole disabled-amputee-with-mild-PTSD-thing. Just the icing on top of his shitty-prospects cake.

Steve bit his lip as he blinked several times. “She was supposed to get here forty-five minutes ago,” he said slowly like he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

“Do you want me to look for her?” Bucky asked, pushing the words out in a rush before he could selfishly take them back. “Another pair of eyes can’t hurt, you know.”

“No,” Steve sighed. He reached up a hand to run through his hair as he focused on a point over Bucky’s left shoulder. “I don’t think she’s coming.”

“I hope she didn’t break both legs,” Bucky joked, but it fell flat like he knew it would as soon as the words left his mouth.

“No,” Steve said as his gaze resettled on Bucky. “I think – I hope – she’s having better luck than Deborah Kerr. She’s probably working. Holed up at her favorite diner with her laptop and too much coffee.”

“I – sure,” Bucky said, more than a little at a loss for words. “I – uh, why aren’t you at that diner then?”

“It was our thing,” Steve said, his voice sounding a little raw. “Every time she was back in the states, we’d meet up here, go to that diner and get burgers, and head back to my place. She’d make breakfast the next morning because that’s the only thing she can cook without screwing up, and then a month later she’d ship back out again.”

“So… you’re here?” Bucky tried again.

“I didn’t want to be the one to walk away,” Steve said simply. “We have a date.”

“Oh.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, cheeks darkening. “I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear any of this. I’ll, uh, just go.”

“Go where?” Bucky asked, alarmed. He couldn’t help the way his eyes slid over the fence and down eighty floors to the street below them. He snapped his gaze back to Steve’s face.

“Around?” he said with a sharp jerk of his hand to indicate the parts of the deck that didn’t contain Bucky. “I don’t know, circle a bit. I’ve still got a couple of hours to kill until closing.”

“True,” Bucky said as he tried to slow down his racing heart. “And you don’t have to circle if you don’t want to.” He bit his lip. “I should probably get back to the elevators, but we can keep talking if you like. Standing around is pretty dull, no need for two of us to be bored out of our skulls.”

Steve cast a longing look at the elevator. “I don’t think I’ll be good company,” he said cautiously as he began to follow Bucky.

“That’s fine,” Bucky replied offhandedly. “I’m shit company. You can’t beat that.”

They kept talking for a couple more hours as the volume of tourists coming up and leaving the Main Deck slowed to a trickle. Bucky learned that Steve still worked for the military even after he retired from active duty, and that Peggy was also in the same line of work. Bucky tried to keep things close to the chest; he felt inadequate enough next to a goddamn war hero without blabbing about how shit his life was, but Steve’s earnest face and genuine interest managed to worm details out of Bucky. He told him about rehab for his arm and how this was meant as a transition job back into real life, but a year and a half later, and he was still working security.

When Jim radioed him for a late night drink once his shift was over, Bucky was honestly surprised to check his watch and see that it was nearly two in the morning. And when Dum Dum waved hello and wheeled his trash bin and brooms out of the elevator, Steve started. “Christ, what time is it?”

“About a quarter past,” Dum Dum said as he bent to upturn the nearest garbage can. He turned to Bucky and gave a nod of approval, eyebrows waggling. “You two need an escort down?”

“No, no I’ll see him down,” Bucky said hurriedly before Dum Dum could formally suggest a threesome or something else equally inappropriate. “Steve?” he asked, gesturing for him to get in the elevator Dum Dum had just vacated.

“Right, of course,” Steve said as he stepped inside.

Bucky pressed the button for the lowest level, and the doors close. He heard Steve let out a small sigh.

“Thanks,” Steve began hesitantly.

“For what?” Bucky asked, honestly confused.

“For keeping me company,” Steve explained. “I probably would have been a wreck waiting up there for so long on my own.” He flushed a bright red.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky said gently. “I’m glad I could help.”

“Me too,” Steve said warmly.

Bucky sucked in a breath, bracing himself, and asked in a rush before he could lose his nerve, “Do you want to get a drink? I know a pretty good dive bar, and I don’t want to stop talking to you.”

Steve blinked at him, more than a little taken aback. “I – a drink?”

“Not a date,” Bucky clarified. “Not unless you want it to be, but I don’t think you do. Too soon, and all that.”

“Bucky…” Steve said, moving to stand a little more directly in his field of vision instead of side-by-side.

Bucky gulped. He’d heard that tone before, that kind of I-have-bad-news-that-you-knew-was-coming-so-don’t-be-upset vibe that his doctor had adopted when he’d first come out of surgery and wasn’t loopy on painkillers. He stared at the seam where the elevator doors met the carpet in front of his feet.

“I don’t think I’m looking for a date at the moment-”

The cables could snap in the elevator sending them plummeting the next thirty floors, and Bucky wouldn’t feel any lower than he did right now.

“-But I could use a drink.”

Bucky’s head snapped up to meet Steve’s determined gaze. His posture was stiff, clearly uncomfortable. He continued, “I don’t want to stop talking to you either. So, I’d be appreciative if you could table the ‘date’ until later. Because you’re right, it is too soon.” He glanced at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. “But I learned a while I was overseas that there’s no point in wasting time when you could die tomorrow, so it’s not going to be too soon forever.”

* * *

Steve didn’t so much as fit into Bucky’s life as redefine it. He moved into a new apartment with Bucky when his own lease was up; he became a regular at poker nights at Monty and Jacques’s; and Bucky played one game of Ultimate on Steve’s team before becoming a very committed cheerleader from the sidelines. After several months of friendship, they fell into dating. Steve, in a burst of spontaneity that he had probably fretted about for weeks, kissed him over a shared pizza and a movie at Bucky’s new apartment.

And then one Sunday night in September, three years after he had spent his entire night shift with Steve on the Main Deck, he happened upon the last couple minutes of _Sleepless in Seattle_ on Sunday night while he was on the treadmill at the gym.

He didn’t fall off the damn thing, but it was a close call.

Getting Steve to the Top Deck on the Empire State building was surprisingly easy. All he had to do was say that he forgot something at Monty and Jacques’s from poker night. Monty was working the evening shift. Why couldn’t they stop by before dinner at Steve’s favorite restaurant?

When the elevator doors opened, Steve’s brows drew together in confusion as he looked around and didn’t see Monty by the elevator at the 86th floor. His expression turned to baffled as Bucky directed him to the second elevator to the Top Deck.

“Bucky,” he started slowly as he took in the simple bucket of champagne sitting in the middle of the empty observation deck, lit up by the setting sun. The sprawling view of New York City surrounded them from all sides.

“I always thought words were always enough,” Bucky said hesitantly as he got down on one knee. “I didn’t see the point in making big romantic gestures because I never had someone in my life that I cared about as much as you. When I was working here, I saw a lot of proposals, and I’d think, _what stupid schmucks for shelling out for such a cliché.”_

Steve laughed, smiling so widely Bucky would bet good money his cheeks would start to hurt in a minute.

“Frankly,” Bucky continued in a more serious voice, even as his heart threatened to beat right out of his chest from nerves. His palms had gotten sweaty, and he prayed to high heaven that Steve didn’t notice. “I was a jackass, and didn’t get it. I was too wrapped up in my own head and my fuck ups to see what they had and understand. But I do now. I love you, Steve Rogers, so much, that it makes me do stupid shit like this. Will you marry me?”

Steve didn’t give his answer immediately. He sucked in a deep breath, his hands tightening to grip Bucky’s right back. “Yeah, of course,” Steve said in a mostly-even voice.

“Thank fuck, that’s great,” Bucky gasped as he got to his feet. “Christ, that floor is hard.”

Steve laughed again and pulled Bucky into a lingering kiss. “I can’t believe you did this,” he marveled as they pulled apart.

Bucky shrugged. “Dum Dum owed me in poker from three months ago. I got the employee discount, so this place is ours for a full half hour.” He licked his lips and said in a low voice, “I can’t imagine how you’d want to spend it.”

“I’m not having sex with you on top of the Empire State Building,” Steve said flatly, even as his smile lurked in the corners of his mouth.

“Good,” Bucky said as he strode over to the champagne bottle. “Because I wasn’t suggesting it. I know where every fucking security camera is in here. There’s no way that I’m giving that footage to Dum Dum. Who knows how he’d use it.”

Steve chuckled as he took a proffered glass from Bucky.

“I called ahead, and we can get the food delivered here, if you’d like,” Bucky said quietly. “Or we can go to the restaurant. It’s your choice.”

“I – can we stay here a little bit?” Steve asked. “It really is a nice view.”

Bucky clinked their glasses together. “It really is, isn’t it?”

Far, far below them, New York City bustled on.

**Author's Note:**

> The dive bar that Bucky recommends is Rudy's Bar & Grill at 627 9th Ave. Provided you can fork over $5 for a pitcher of their cheapest beer, you can get all the free hotdogs you can eat.
> 
> As always, a million thanks to my beta, Hannah!


End file.
